


Apocalypse.

by glanmire



Series: Erik's terrible foray into parenting. [4]
Category: X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014) - Fandom
Genre: Drunk! Pietro, M/M, Zombie AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-03
Updated: 2014-08-17
Packaged: 2018-02-11 15:25:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2073321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glanmire/pseuds/glanmire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the zombie apocalypse, which means Magneto is handing out guns and getting dangerous. But what's he supposed to do when it's his own son who gets bitten?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Although I'm putting this into 'Erik's terrible foray into parenting' because it is the same universe and all, this does involve zombies, so it's an AU, I guess. Doesn't mean it isn't fabulous though.

Kitty Pryde looks mournfully at Hank, her sallow face almost apologetic. Kitty is seven years old and currently strapped up in Hank’s lab, which is not as creepy as it sounds, because Kitty is a zombie, another victim of this apocalypse. She stinks of rotting meat and vaguely like eggs, but Hank withstands the smell because, well, science. 

He’s just about to note down that _yes_ , zombies can on occasion convey limited emotions when Kitty phases through her straps and bites him. 

“Ow,” Hank says, which out of all the understatements he’s made in his life, is probably the greatest. 

He knows that if you get a burn, you’re meant to run it under cold water immediately to cool it down. He wonders absentmindedly whether he should do that, wash out the zombie-bite, or just whether they should just amputate the hand for safety’s sake, or-

_Charles_ , he manages to think clearly in his delirium, and then he passes out. 

 

-

 

Mystique had arrived the night before Hank got bitten with baby Kurt - who was a toddler now really - in her arms and a hard line in her shoulders. 

“Don’t,” she had said to Charles when he opened the door, and he hadn’t said a word, hadn’t asked why she hadn’t call, although he couldn’t hide the hurt, the relief, on his face. 

“I just thought this would be the safest place to spend the Apocalypse,” she had said, shrugging.  

“Don’t call it that,” Charles had chastised. “There’s an widespread epidemic, yes, but it’s not the end of the world.” 

“Charles, the epidemic is _zombies_ ,” she had said, moving Kurt from one hip to the other. The little guy was getting heavy after all. 

“Hank is confident he can find a cure,” Charles had insisted. 

“Hank’s cures have a history of working out well,” she had snapped, and Charles just looked hurt again. He bruised so easily. 

“I’m sorry,” she had said, meaning it. “May we come in?” 

“Of course. Well, there’s certainly room for you, more so than usual - the parents have all come for the students. They think it’s the end of the world.” 

“Who’s left?” 

“Myself, Hank, Alex and Pietro. And Kitty, a student of mine, who got infected. Hank’s trying to cure her.” 

“Magneto hasn’t shown up yet?” she had asked, surprised, and uncertain whether she should be relieved or not. Magneto had a knack for showing up at these things, uninvited.  
“He went out to try and persuade Wanda to stay here, but she’s insisting on staying with her mother. She’s stubborn like Erik that way. Pietro’s staying here with us, though I haven’t the faintest idea why.” 

Charles had been nervously over-talking, clearly afraid that she was going to spin on her heel and walk away again, which was sweet in a way.

“Magneto’s actually right though,” she had said, holding on the _for once_ part.“Wanda and Pietro’s mother is human right? Her and Wanda won’t last tuppence if this escalates any further-”

“I have the upmost faith in Mrs. Maximoff,” Charles had said, and his tone said to leave it be, so she had. 

 

Erik had arrived an hour later, his jaw set and a backpack crammed full of guns and ammo over his shoulder. Wanda hadn’t come with him.

“Don’t ask,” he had warned, when Charles had eyed the guns - which seemed to be the phrase of the night - and had handed out the guns like another man would share gum. Mystique took hers gratefully. Mutations were one thing, but she had always felt comforted by the weight of a gun in her hand. Zombies weren’t going to stop just because she could make herself look like the President; but they would slow down if she got six rounds into them. Charles had politely declined his gun, and Mystique had felt a fight brewing, so she spoke up. 

“I’m afraid that Kurt is going to teleport outside, the way he does, and get bitten by a passing zombie. Anyone got any ideas how to stop him teleporting?” she had asked, trying to put a cheerful spin on it but failing. 

“We still have some of the suppressor drugs around…” Hank had suggested, and then took a step back under the sudden wrath in Erik’s glare. 

“You will not subject that child to suppressors,” he had said, jabbing a finger at Hank accusingly. Mystique almost had expected Hank to stammer and say, “No sir,” but then again, Hank was Beast now, and he was less afraid of Magneto than he had been. She had spoken up before it got nasty though. 

“No, not the injections, but a bracelet or something? Could you do that?” Mystique had asked. 

Hank had nodded quickly, and Erik had scowled. “What?” she had snapped at him. “Do you want Kurt to _die?_ Idealistically, yes we wouldn’t have to do this - I think I, of all people, don’t like the idea of suppressing who you are - but this isn’t about ideals Erik, it’s about keeping Kurt alive.”

“Right,” Hank had said after a second’s delay, eyeing Erik first. “I’ll get started on that bracelet then. Would you mind bringing Kurt down to the lab Mystique?” 

Erik had stepped forward again but Hank had spoken quickly, “-just to measure his arms and legs that is, after all, we’ll want the bracelet to fit him comfortably. There’ll be no tests or anything like that.” 

“No tests,” Mystique had agreed, and had gone to find Pietro, who had been delighted to be reunited with Kurt and was minding him somewhere, to get Kurt down to the lab.

 

-

A zombie had been restrained carefully in the lab. “That must be Kitty,” she had said, studying the little girl from afar. Hank had followed her gaze. “Yes, she was a student here but her parents pulled her out when the outbreak started. Of course, when she got bitten, they dropped her here and told us to deal with it. That’s parents for you.” 

“What are you doing to her?” Mystique had asked, holding Kurt far away from the zombie girl. 

“Just running a few tests, trying to find a cure,” Hank had said off-handedly. “Now let’s make that bracelet for the little man.” 

 

Mystique hadn’t even thought to ask what Kitty’s mutation was. She hadn’t asked whether mutants would keep their mutations when they became zombies, and now Kitty had phased through her straps and bitten Hank, and Mystique could have done something about it, if she’d just stopped to think.

She contemplates now, as Hank is unconscious on the floor, the bite-mark a nasty green colour on his wrist, that maybe the mansion isn’t the safest place to spend the apocalypse after all. 

 

-

 

“We took the liberty of restraining you Hank,” Charles is saying, “just in case.” 

Hank totally understands the ‘just in case’ bit. If he decides to majorly freak out, then he could cause major damage. But he isn’t freaking out. He’s fine. He got bitten by a zombie, but he’s okay, isn’t he?

“It’s fine,” he says, opening his eyes. Zombie Kitty is lolling her head at him, and if he didn’t know any better he’d think that she is mocking him. She’s been impaled by a steel rod through the arm, and Erik has a hand held in that direction, obviously holding her in place. Hank absently hopes it’s not hurting her. 

“Does anyone have any ideas how to stop me becoming a zombie?” he asks, his voice cracking a little. 

“I said we should have cut off the hand immediately,” Magneto says. That’s Erik for you - always thinking that he can make the tough choice, but it’s always someone else’s hypothetical hand Erik is so in favour of chopping off, not his own. 

“I could do it, if you want Hank, and it would cauterise,” Alex suggests, “So you wouldn’t bleed out or anything. If that’s what you want me to do Hank.” 

Alex is never this nice, and that makes Hank realise the gravity of the situation. His legs are shaking now, but it’s just adrenaline, he’s not actually scared, he’s just-

“I don’t want to lose my hand,” he says weakly, but no-one agrees with him, no-one says _I’m sure it’ll be okay Hank, you don’t have to do this._ “Oh god, no,” he says, and then screws his eyes shut. “Do it, okay, just get it over with, please.” 

He hears shuffling, and knows Alex is going to blast his hand off- and then Charles says, “Wait, no, give me a minute, please.” A gentle voice speaks in Hank’s head, urging him to go back to sleep, and Hank agrees with that voice - sleeping _would_ be nice now, yes, anything but this - and then the world goes black again. 

 

-

 

Mystique leaves the room before they burn Hank’s hand off. She takes Kurt upstairs, away from all that, and puts him on the bed.  
“How’s my baby boy?” she asks, tickling his belly. He gurgles, and then, before she loses her nerve, Mystique carefully places the bracelet Hank had made around Kurt’s chubby ankle. He kicks a little but lets her do it, watching her with those intelligent eyes. She closes the clasp and her baby changes, changes into a human baby, into a pink-skinned, blond-haired human baby boy, who’s suddenly crying because his tail has vanished, and she picks him up instinctively, but he’s not her’s, he’s not _Kurt_ , he’s a stranger’s child, a changeling. 

Kurt is still wailing when Pietro appears into the room. “Is everything okay?” he asks, and then double-takes as he looks at Kurt. 

“Take him off me,” Mystique orders, and Pietro obligingly steps forward, taking the baby gently. 

Mystique walks to the window and looks out over the garden, her throat tight. She is blue and Azazel was red. Their child was going to be human or normal, and she had made peace with that. But now, seeing him as a beautiful all-american little boy who would never have to hide or be hated or- 

Pietro coos at Kurt, calming him, and lets her have her moment. When she’s ready, she turns around, but she finds she can’t look at _it_ , at that blond thing in Pietro’s arms that looks nothing like her son. 

“Would you mind?” she says, waving a hand, and he nods in understanding. “Myself and the little man might go for a stroll,” he says. “You take all the time you need.” 

Times like this, she wonders how Erik managed to have a son like Pietro. He’s a good guy. 

 

 

“Hrrrungh,” Hank groans, waking up. Alex comes over to him, guilt clear on his features, worry too. “Hey Hank, you feeling okay?”

_No,_ Hank thinks. _I’m dying or worse, so I’m not quite okay, thanks._ That doesn’t come out though. What he says is, “Nrrndd.”

Alex frowns. “I couldn’t quite make that out Hank, man. Try again.” 

“Wwddrr,” Hank says, carefully and deliberately. His lips are numb and chapped, and won’t move the way he wants them to. All he wants is a glass of water. Hank struggles against the straps, and then remembers the arm, and stops. It doesn’t hurt, which is wrong in itself, but he doesn’t look at it. He just wants some water. 

“Wwuwwr,” he tries, pitifully, and tears come to his eyes. 

Alex looks worried. “I’ll go get the professor. He’ll know what you mean.” 

 

Charles comes into the lab a while later, but stays well back from Hank, which is appropriate but also hurtful. 

“How are you feeling Hank?” he asks. Hank groans a little in response. 

“Yes, I heard you are having difficultly communicating,” Charles says in his teaching tone, like it’s something he should try to work on in the future, like bad grammar or spelling or something. Hank looks pointedly at Charles and thinks about water. 

“I’m dreadfully sorry Hank,” Charles says after a moment, his face falling. “I just can’t seem to hear what you’re thinking. It’s like there’s bad reception.” 

Hank sags into the straps, and idly wonders they had done to Zombie Kitty. If she could still phase - well there was nothing in the world that could hold her for long. 

“I better go,” Charles says. “Myself, Mystique and Erik are trying to come up with a plan of action.” 

Hank understands the implication - that Alex and Pietro aren’t going to be much help, and that Kurt is just a baby. They all have useful mutations but are dead weights when it comes down to solving the problem, planning. He nods his head slowly. He used to be one of the useful ones, but not anymore he supposes. 

“I’ll be back again in a while,” Charles says apologetically, and wheels away. Alex sits back down.  
“I’m sorry,” he says after a while. “About your arm that is. I know you agreed, but-”

Hank concentrates hard, and manages to shake his head, hoping that Alex will understand. 

“You can fight this,” Alex says. “You’re _Beast._ If anyone can fight this, it’s you.” 

Hank blinks, and then realises how exhausted he is, and closes his eyes, and falls asleep again. 

 

-

 

 

“Oh man, your hair is going grey and like, falling off. Is that, is your skin-” a voice says, and trails off. Hank raises his head slowly. There’s a boy with grey hair looking at him. 

“Does it hurt?” the boy asks. He sounds sad, or worried maybe. Hank doesn’t know what’s supposed to be hurting him. His body is cold, and numb, but there’s no pain. 

“Do you know who I am?” the boy asks, stepping closer. Hank tries to shake his head but it’s stiff and he gives up. 

The boy swears, and moves quickly to the door, quicker than seems real, mumbling about something about Charles. 

Charles. That sounds familiar, but Hank can’t remember why. He struggles a little against the straps, and clumps of his hair fall off as he does. It used to be blue, he thinks, but the strange boy is right. His hair is grey and dry and brittle now. 

Charles. He knows a Charles, doesn’t he? 

 

-

 

 

The mansion is totally self-sufficient in theory. In reality they grow a few mangey vegetables out in the gardens that are very sporadically watered, though the wine-cellar would be a fine source of calories if it came to that. 

Short-term, they have the food brought in for the students. No-one wants to think about the long-term. 

“Assessments?” Erik asks, taking on the role of the drill sergeant. It suits him, like the way the shadow of stubble on his face and the bruised knuckles suit him. Erik has always wanted war, and this is one that he can fight with Charles’ approval. It’s cathartic for both of them. 

“The Kitty Situation is an issue,” Charles admits. “It proves that zombies do in fact retain our mutations.”

“Then why hasn’t she done it before?” 

“From what I can gather, Hank was in close proximity to her. Her hunger was obviously a factor, and the phasing was probably instinctive. I think that if we have her restrained and don’t stray too close to her, it won’t occur to her to phase, for a while at least.” 

Erik nods, and Charles feels a surge of something close to joy at the gesture of approval, which is ridiculous. 

“And how’s Hank?” he asks. 

Charles lowers his voice. “Not good. He’s lost the ability to speak, or recognise people, but he appears to have retained higher functions. I can still control his mind at the moment, though I don’t know how long it will last,” he clarifies. 

“Did the suppressor work on Kurt?” Erik prompts Mystique. She turns to him, distracted. “Yes. He’s not in danger of teleporting outside or anything now.” 

“Good,” Erik says, though it’s obvious he’s not entirely pleased with this situation. “Now, I’ve done a stock check and it’s not looking great. I propose we raid the local village today.” 

“Who’s ‘we’?” Charles asks, half-afraid he’ll be asked to go, but more afraid that he’ll be immediately counted out as useless, a dead weight because of his dead legs. 

Erik blinks. “Well I’ll need you at least Charles. You’ll convince any humans we encounter to give us what we need, not to attack us, so on. Mystique, I’m taking you primarily because of your combat abilities, should they be needed,” _and to protect Charles if it comes to it,_ Charles hears so clearly it might have been said aloud _._ “Alex and Pietro will stay here and hold the fort.” 

“You’re expecting two teenagers to mind my baby, protect the house from attack, and cope with the two zombies we already have wandering around?” Mystique asks. 

Erik looks at her coldly. “If you have a better proposal, by all means…” 

She doesn’t reply. She’s really not herself, and Charles reminds himself to ask her what’s troubling her. 

“That’s settled then,” Erik says. “Gather what you need. We leave in an hour.” 

Charles begins to wheel himself away, but Erik lays a hand on his shoulder. “A moment, if you would, Charles.” 

 

-

 

Lights are bright. Closes eyes. Opens again- sniff. There’s food. Food - _meat_ \- far side of the room. Meat asleep. Meat stupid.

Hank shuffles towards the meat. Quiet now. Meat snoring. 

There - arm. Hank bites the arm and the meat’s eyes open and scream and move fast, but Hank chews on the bite he got. Meat. 

 

-

 

Pietro is a heavy sleeper. He burns up a lot of energy during the day or whatever, and so maybe it hadn’t been the best idea to put the guy who goes unconscious for hours at a time on guard duty. 

He realises how incredibly stupid falling asleep was when he wakes with a jolt to Zombie Hank happily gnawing on his shoulder. 

He sprints to the far side of the run, screaming, and tries not to panic. 

Breathe in. Breathe out. A second hasn’t passed yet, which is good, he decides. He can beat this - they can what, burn off his shoulder? do _something-_  
Pietro’s metabolism has always worked at breakneck speed, which is normally great, because going super-fast means he needs a whole lot of calories. Now, this is a major disadvantage, because he feels the zombie-infection trickle into his bloodstream and sweep through his veins like cold water, like poison. “Oh shit,” he says, morbidly curious as he watches the skin on his shoulder go green, then purple, then black, all around the area where Hank bit him.

_PROFESSOR_ , he remembers to yells in his head, finally, and then he’s freezing and numb all over, and and thinks no more. 

 

-

 

“Charles,” Erik says, in his as-close-as-I’ll-come-to-pleading voice. 

“No.” 

“Charles, the apocalypse is not the time to be stubborn.” 

“I- shut up.” 

Erik puts a hand on either side of Charles’ wheelchair and leans over him. “Listen. You’re wheelchair-bound, which is not ideal right now. You have no telepathic control over the zombies, so you have no defences, no attacks, nothing! Now take the gun, goddamn it.” 

“I don’t like guns Erik, and with good reason.” 

“I know,” Erik says, and his face softens, “I know and I’m sorry. But you have to take it and you have to use it if needs be. I won’t have you dying for something as trivial as a dislike for guns, and Mystique and I can’t spend the entire raid watching out for you.” 

There are a lot of cutting things that Charles could say to that, but he swallows them and takes the gun from Erik. Their fingers brush, and Erik is still leaning over him, and -

“No,” Charles says, “Jesus, oh no,” and Erik’s face falls. “What? Dammit Charles, what is it?” 

“It’s Pietro,” Charles says. “Erik, run!”

 

Erik sprints, Charles following behind him in the chair, but they’re too late. Hank and Pietro - or what remains of them- are thrashing against the lab door, trying to get out. 

Erik surges forward towards the handle and Charles is forced to stop him with his mind. 

_No._

Erik is frozen in place, still reaching for the door. 

_My son, Charles._

Charles holds Erik there until he thinks he is calm enough; and even then, when he’s let go, Erik does not get viciously angry at Charles for restraining him. He stares through the window in the lab door, stares at Pietro’s sunken features, his dead eyes. 

After a long time Charles rolls away, leaving Erik at the door. 

 

-

Their second meeting is not as optimistic as the first. Hank’s a zombie, Pietro’s a zombie, and no-one is mentioning anything about leaving to get supplies now. 

“No-one is to harm Pietro,” Erik growls. 

“That was never the plan, old friend,” Charles says. “We still have hopes that we can cure them.” 

No-one comments on the fact that it was Hank who was doing all the research, and that he’s a zombie now, plus all the research itself is trapped in the basement with him. No-one says either that Erik was the person doing all the planning, and now that they’d lost Pietro, they seem to have lost Erik too.

“Well what is the plan then?” Mystique asks. Erik spins around to stare at her as if he’d forgotten she was there.  
“Don’t give me that look Magneto,” she warns. 

“No Erik,” Charles says quickly. “That’s not happening.”

“What? What’s he thinking?” Mystique asks. “At least run it by me first.” 

“No,” Charles insists, but Erik ignores him. 

“Mystique, if you could take on the appearance of a zombie, they should leave you alone because it seems it’s smell that triggers it, so you should be able to retrieve the research unharmed.” 

Mystique tilts her head, to stare Erik down, considering it. 

“Let’s be honest here,” she says, looking directly at Charles, who sighs - she knows her own brand of brutal honesty cuts like nothing else -“It’s the only way. I mean, you’re useless here Charles, no offence-”

“None taken-”

“Plus,” Alex cuts in, “None of them are wearing metal cause no-one’s dumb enough to do that when Magneto’s around,”

“Exactly,” Mystique says. “Well except for Zombie Kitty, when you impaled her in the arm. She could phase through that at any time.”

“Mystique?” Alex asks. “I can still be useful. Zombies still burn. So I’ll stand guard, and if anyone goes to hurt you, I’ll have your back.” 

Mystique smiles. “Thanks Alex.” 

“You saved my life, back at the army. I didn’t forget.” 

“Sorry to ruin the poignant moment there,” Erik butts in, “but I will not allow you to blast Pietro, Alex. He’s still my son.” 

“Your son who wants to eat your brains.” 

“Irrelevant.” 

“What about if I aim for the legs then? Won’t kill him- well, he’s undead anyway, but if he ever becomes human again-”

“Pietro’s legs are essential to his mutation. He’d never forgive me.” 

“I did,” Charles says softly, and there’s an awful, awful silence that Mystique instinctively wants to run away from, but instead she grits her teeth and turns to Alex again. 

“Look Alex, your aim isn’t the best, and it’s an inclosed environment. I don’t want a blast ricocheting and slicing me in half.” 

Alex grimaces but doesn’t deny it. Mystique takes a breath and bounces on her heels. “I’ve done harder,” she says, almost to herself. Considering her company, she’s almost surprised that someone doesn’t point out the lie. 

“I love how it’s the single mother who’s going to save all of your asses,” she gently mocks, and then changes her appearance before she can change her mind. It only takes a second to make herself appear as a zombie; the rotting skin, the swollen gums, the claw-like nails. She immediately hates holding this figure, but it’ll have to do. She tries to stride forward, and then pauses. Her legs don’t work like they’re supposed to- they’re numb and unresponsive, allowing her only a sort of shuffle. 

“This better be worth it,” she tries to say, but it comes out as a groan instead. She can’t even speak? 

_Charles,_ she thinks hard, stretching her mind out to his, throwing it open. Charles knows that he’s not allowed in there normally, but she’ll make an except tonight. After a moment she feels his presence in her thoughts, a gentle touch that you wouldn’t know if you weren’t looking for it. _I’m here,_ he says reassuringly. _Which means you, at least, aren’t brain dead,_ he adds, which kind of ruins the moment, but that’s Charles for you.  

 

It’s a quiet walk down to the laboratory. Erik stands behind her, ready. He had quickly melted down some knives into a dozen metal balls. The plan was that he’d embed them in the zombies, and use it to push them back if needs be. 

Charles is further back, as her translator, Alex by his side, ready to blast the zombies if things get truly nasty. 

Mystique wonders, and she shuffles along and smells like rotting eggs, how she thought she was the hero but sort of turned into the bait, which is not what she signed up for. 

 

Hank and Pietro are still pounding at the door, and she wonders would they ever stop. Ten, twenty years, would they still be pawing at the door if left to their own devices?

She groans back at them, and Erik inches the door open with his mind. She squeezes through the gap, and it snicks shut behind her before they can get through. 

Pietro dully looks at her. 

“Aaarrrgngng” she says, which seems acceptable, and they focus their efforts on the door again. 

Now that she can see properly, there’s actually a limited intelligence to it. Zombie Hank is swinging his grey-haired, club-like paws against the door like an axe. _I used to like you,_ she thinks, considering him. That seems like an eon ago now, a different girl, a blonde called Raven who had no idea she’d be a mother within a decade. Mystique wonders if Hank still had feelings for her, before he got zombified, if- 

_Sorry Mystique, but could you hurry along? You’re worrying the others,_ Charles says, and she can’t suppress the anger that surges through her. She knows he’s right, and that he won’t tell what he heard, but that’s not the point; that should have been private. She’s risking her life for those idiots, didn’t she deserve a moment? 

She shuffles forward, grabs the nearest folders and gets the hell out of there. Screw this. She has Kurt to think of. 

 

-

 

There was a moment of exultation, shortly after she’d gotten the research, when everything seemed like it would be solved in moments. Then they realised that Hank hadn’t a clue how to solve the zombie problem, something they’d all known but chosen to ignore. 

Then Zombie Hank manages to splinter through the lab door, and it takes all of Erik’s metal balls to hold him back, just for a second, and Pietro flashes past before anyone could see him and sinks his yellow teeth into Alex’s neck. 

Erik splays out a hand and Charles’ wheelchair goes flying down the hall, Charles holding onto the sides for dear life, and Mystique drops the zombie-form and sprints after him. It’s too late to do anything for Alex - _good job on saving the kid’s life,_ she thinks bitterly after she runs down the hallway. He’s yelling and blasting off lasers that burst around them like vivid red flowers, only deadly. Mystique hurdles herself past one that streaks past her face and shoves Charles along. 

“Erik,” Charles gasps, and Mystique turns. Alex and Pietro are still struggling but Magneto is stepping inch by inch away from Hank, holding the latter in place with his makeshift bullets. He’s visibly straining, muscles pulled tight in his neck, and Mystique gets an idea. 

“No, Raven-” Charles says, lapsing back into her old name, but she’s already running. She slides through Zombie Hank’s legs easily, and stands up, now behind him. 

“Mmm, tasty human,” she mocks. He lurches towards her, Erik forgotten, and she backs into the lab, waits until he’s over the threshold and then appears as a zombie. Hank blinks slowly, no doubt confused as to where the tasty meat has gone, and she shuffles past him, and Erik slams the door shut on Zombie Hank. 

Zombie Pietro is still biting at Alex, and she wonders whether it would be cleaner just to kill Alex now, save him from that fate, but Erik shoves her along, back to safety. 

 

“That was idiotic,” Erik, ever the ungrateful bastard, says as they jog down the hallways, keeping an eye out for any of the zombies.

“I saved your life,” she shoots back. 

“I had it under control,” he says. He’s levitating Charles’ wheelchair for ease, though it looks to be a rocky ride for Charles, who lurches half-out of it every time they take a corner. It’s faster than pushing it though. 

“Now’s not the time,” Charles says from above them, knuckles white from where he’s holding onto the arms of the chair. “We lost Alex, we need to regroup somewhere safe-”

“I’m getting Kurt first, I left him in the bedroom.” 

“I’ll take Charles to the kitchen. Lots of metal there,” Magneto says. “Get Kurt and meet us there.” 

She doesn’t bother responding but cuts a sharp corner and flies up a flight of stairs, taking them two at a time. The zombie situation has gotten critical, far faster than any of them expected. 

 

-

 

Mystique reaches the bedroom, unlocks it, and bundles Kurt up in her arms. He’s still human, still wearing his little suppressor. She’s almost to the door when there’s a thud against it. 

Mystique almost calls out Charles’ name when she bites her lip. 

_Charles?_ she sends out instead. There’s nothing, no reply but another thud, and a scratching noise, like a whining dog at the door, but it’s not a dog that’s outside. 

Mystique pats Kurt on the back soothingly, and tries to think. What to do. What to do. She strides to the window, but they’re on the second floor - she could probably do it, but not with Kurt. There’s another thud at the door. 

She makes herself look like a zombie, and Kurt starts wailing, and no wonder, what with his mother rotting and scaring him. The cries seem to aggravate the thing at the door, which thumps against it with renewed vigor. She goes back to blue again - because even if they let her pass, they’d go for Kurt- and then, in a flash of inspiration, breaks the suppressor bracelet off Kurt, and he’s blue again, as easy as that. 

“C’mon baby,” she says. “Teleport us out of here, please baby, teleport.” 

Kurt watches her and tickles her face with the tip of his tail, obviously happy that it’s back. She walks to the wall furtherest from the door, to give them every second possible, and turns her back to the door to offer him the last protection that she can. 

“Kurt, Kurt, for mommy, please teleport, please-”

The scratching at the door reaches the handle, which jerks up and down. Mystique yells _Charles! Charles!_ in her head but he’s not going to come, he can’t do anything, and she stares down at her son. 

“Please Kurt- outside, let’s go outside-”

The door splints, pieces of wood exploding out onto the floor. Mystique is a fighter, but she can’t fight with a baby in her arms, and then there’s another splintering blow- one more and they’ll be through- and Kurt keeps smiling. 

Mystique grabs his tail in her hand and yanks it, hard. He cries out, the final blow comes and a grey hand claws through the hole, but it’s too late because they’re moving, compressed through space and then safely in the garden. 

“I’m so sorry Kurt,” she says, but he won’t stop crying, and she kisses him lightly on the head, ashamed of herself. 

 

“Wait for Mystique,” Charles says. 

Erik has looted the kitchen for everything with a metal component, and now pots and pans and everything and anything lash outwards, forming a rough sort of metallic barrier around them, a shield, a bubble.

Charles closes his eyes but can still hear Mystique’s fear, her pleas. 

“There’s nothing we can do for her,” Erik says, pausing for a second, pots floating around him, like he’s the conductor and they’re waiting for a cue. 

“I know,” Charles says, but saying it just makes it worse somehow. He looks around wildly for something else to latch onto, anything. There’s about two feet of space, altogether. There’s not much there to be inspired by. 

“What are we going to eat?” he asks. 

“Each other,” Erik suggests with a sardonic grin. 

“Well, I suppose we ought to eat both my legs first, they’re not useful anyway-”

There’s a pause, and then Charles sees that the humour has drained from Erik’s face. “I said I was going to protect that boy,” he says quietly. “My son, Charles, my son.” 

Charles has no words but reaches forward and holds Erik’s hand in his own. “You did the very best you could,” he says. “Pietro loved you.” 

Erik stares at him, and Charles stares back, and if this is oblivion, then it’s nothing to fear. Slowly, Erik moves his hand to Charles’ neck, and then leans in so Charles can feel his ragged breaths on his cheek and look into his eyes, neither blue nor green but something in between. Charles closes the space between them and closes his eyes too; blindly finds Erik’s lips with his own. Erik moves his hand to Charles’ hair and moves closer, sighing into it. Charles sighs too- then laughs, his mouth still around Erik’s and he feels Erik freeze.  
“No, of course I’m not laughing at you, old friend,” he says. “I’m laughing because it took the end of the world to get us this far.”

Erik nods at that, as if it were a reasonable excuse to stop kissing for a second, but no longer, and he pushes himself back onto Charles, half-sitting on him on the wheelchair. It’s more rough, more desperate this time, hands flying out and grabbing and searching. Erik runs a hand down Charles’ shoulder blades to the base of his spine and back up, from the sensitive skin on his back right to where there are only vestiges of feeling left, and Charles shimmies forward in the chair so that Erik is straddling him, fully clothed, which just won’t do, and he’s half-way through ripping Erik’s shirt open, and Erik kissing that spot under his jaw when Charles says, “Stop.” 

Erik, ever respectful, pushes himself backwards, a hurt expression on his face. 

“Not you darling, stop taking everything so personally,” Charles says. “I want this too, believe me. But I think I’ve just solved our zombie problem.” 

Erik slides himself forward again. “That’s what you’re thinking of right now?” he asks roughly, moving back and forward, until Charles has to dig his nails into Erik’s arms to stop from crying out. It’s been a long time. 

“I knew you’d be the death of productivity Erik,” he manages instead, wanting nothing more than to spend a day or several in this haven Erik has made for them, “but we have a duty to save your son.” 

“You think you can cure Pietro?” Erik asks, eyes alight. 

Charles nods, and Erik pushes himself back to his feet and buttons his shirt quickly. 

“After,” he promises, kissing Charles on the cheek just once. “Now tell me.” 

 

-

 

It’s a simple plan. Most plans are, initially. 

“The suppressor drugs suppress mutations,” he explains carefully, wary that Erik, although highly intelligent, hasn’t a clue about science. “And brings the subject back to human form.” 

Erik watches him, like he’s allowing himself to listen but not to hope. 

“Remember how Hank was human, and then he turned into Beast? A complete change in the phenotype-” he catches himself and tries again, “Well his genes changed, and he looked different as a result. Then the suppressor brought him back to the human base, so to speak.” 

“I understand how the suppressor works Charles,” Erik says dryly. 

“I know, I know. But what is the zombie-virus if not a mutation? It changes appearances, alters genes, after all. I think - I’m not sure, but I _think_ if we get the suppressor into the affected, they should go back to that human base.” 

Erik stares at him, and Charles knows he’s not truly looking at him, but that he’s planning, thinking it through. 

“Where are the suppressors? Can you make them?” 

“No,” he admits, “but I don’t have to. I kept some, after the Sentinel fiasco, in case I ever wanted to - well, you know.” 

Erik glares at him, but he really can’t complain. “Where?” 

“Under my bed. I’m afraid I’m not awfully original.” 

“Okay,” Erik says, and then stainless steel fortress that Erik had made around them shivers and collapses, forks and knives dropping onto the floor, finding gravity again. 

There’s no-one in sight. “Quickly now,” Erik says, and they creep along like teenagers sneaking out after curfew, Charles’ wheels’ hissing on the floorboards. 

_Mystique?_ Charles reaches out tentatively, afraid that there’ll be silence on the other end. _Mystique?_

_In the garden with Kurt. Safe for now._

He allows himself that one second to let the relief flow through him. 

_Hang in there. We have a plan._

 

-

They make it to the hallway by the bedroom before they encounter any difficulties. Then, there’s Pietro, grey hair and grey skin, eyes dull. He raises his head and looks at them, and surges forward, and Erik reaches behind him for his rifle-  
“No Erik!” Charles shouts, but Erik _throws_ the rifle, pushing it forward with his power so that it’s a straight line, a barrier between them and Pietro, like the ones that stop cars at checkpoints. Pietro bumps against it again and again, never thinking to duck under it.  

“I’ll stay here,” Erik says, his hand held aloft, holding the rifle in place. 

Charles doesn’t object but wheels himself into the bedroom, where he encounters a problem. The injections are under his bed - which was fine when he’d been using them and could walk and get down on his knees. It’s not so fine now. He pushes himself out of his wheelchair and lands hard on the floor, and then pulls himself forward with his arms, reaching for the box blindly, his legs dead behind him. 

 

Mystique rocks Kurt uncertainly. Where’s safe? The mansion itself is no good, but they’re defenceless out here in the open. Charles didn’t bother to tell her what the plan actually is. She whips around, again and again. She’ll see Hank or Alex coming, yes, but Zombie Kitty could burst out from a wall, and she’d never see Pietro coming at all… 

 

Erik holds Pietro back with rifle, his rotting, moaning son, and hopes and prays to all the gods that he doesn’t believe in that Charles’ plan works. 

 

Charles grabs the box and pulls himself out from under the bed. Getting back into the wheelchair from his position on the floor seems like a monumental task now, but there’s nothing to be done for it. He grasps the sides of the chair, the box wedged firmly under his arm, and using only his upper body strength - which is lacking at the best of times - pulls himself up and into the seat. It would have been easier just to take the suppressor and have his legs work again - but there’s only one injection in the box. They’re going to have to prioritise. 

 

“No,” Erik says when Charles explains. “Give it to Pietro.” 

“Erik, you have to be reasonable here. We need Hank to make more of these.”

Erik doesn’t have words, just a vague fear of time, that if they wait any longer Pietro will be lost, suppressor or not. Charles reads it off him and understands. 

“Please trust me Erik,” Charles says. There’s a long moment before Erik nods, his shoulders sagging, but still holding the rifle aloft, staring at Pietro like this is a betrayal.

 

-

 

It works. It works so well that when they manage to stab Zombie Hank with the suppressor injection - Erik had sent it spinning through the air like a dart- Hank turns back to the original Hank, not even the blue Beast version, but his human self. 

The downside is that he’s lost a hand in the meantime, something which is only registering now. Charles, hating that he has to do it, steals that memory from Hank and diverts his attention from the arm, eases the pain, and convinces him that he was born with one arm. It’s terrible, but there isn’t time to waste on the inevitable distraught that comes with needlessly losing a hand.

“The effects of the suppressor won’t last long,” Hank says, “so I’m going to write down exactly what needs to be done, in case I regress into the zombie state before I finish the new batch, okay?” 

Charles nods - surely he can follow instructions, he is a professor of genetics after all, he was the one who came up with this plan after all- and Hank gets to work. 

There’s a thunderclap sound, though no-one flinches because they all know what it is at this stage, and Mystique and Kurt appear. 

“This little guy’s power got us out of a tight spot,” she says, and Erik looks viciously happy that she’s taken off the suppressor bracelet. Kurt too, looks happier for it, though he might have just missed his tail.

Hank finishes the batch, hands shaking. He’d lost the ability to speak an hour ago, and Charles was watching him carefully, making sure he was still thinking like Hank. Hank one-handedly loads up the syringe like a man who’s been one-handed all his life- which, admittedly, he thinks he has been- and stabs himself in the neck with it. Colour returns to his cheeks, and he sighs. “Glad it worked. Okay, Erik, can you go around and dose the other zombies please? I’m exhausted.” 

Erik complies, moodily, but then Erik was never going to enjoy taking orders from Hank. 

Erik does Pietro first, then Alex, then little Kitty, who never figured out how to phase through the second lot of straps, and it’s a happy ending. 

Except that when Erik sends the syringe into Pietro’s neck, his son’s hair goes brown, and not back to its characteristic grey. Pietro panics and tries to use his speed, which doesn’t work. Alex’s lasers don’t work, and Kitty can’t phase.

“I think,” Hank says, “that you guys - me too, I guess - are truly human now.” 

“But, we don’t have to be like this forever, right?” Pietro asks, worried, and Charles didn’t blame him. The boy and his mutation seemed inseparable - his speed was almost a character trait.

Hank looks down and doesn’t say anything. 

“Pietro, if you stop taking the suppressor, you’ll probably go back to zombie-form,” Charles says as gently as he can. 

Pietro looks at him, brown eyes wide. “You mean I’m stuck like this? Human? We have to- we have to see, to make sure- let it wear off…”

“We will,” Charles promises, but he can feel the doubt rolling off Hank. He thinks they’ll go back to zombies, not mutants, if they stop taking the suppressors. This is fine for Hank, who always had a love/hate relationship with his mutation, but for Pietro and the others, it’s not so easy. _If they’re not mutants,_ Charles thinks, _will they even want to stay at the school? Should humans be allowed?_ He knows what Erik would say to that, but it’s not a question he has to answer yet anyway. There’s still a chance. 

They sit in the lab, young Kitty Pryde traumatised and just wanting to go home, Mystique with Kurt in her arms, Erik standing against the wall, avoiding Pietro’s eyes, Hank and Alex talking softly together,Pietro anxiously pacing at real, human speed, and Charles watching for a sign, a signal. Pietro is the first to get grey-streaks in his hair; but whether that’s a sign that he’s turning back into a zombie or mutant, they can’t tell yet. 

They wait, together. 

 


	2. The Cure.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank, Pietro and Alex are human, and they're coping. Well, some better than others. Pietro gets wasted, Erik nearly drowns Charles, and we finally meet Wanda. Enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Although everyone knows Wanda at this point, I'm still a touch unsure how her powers work, so bear with! Also, I introduced Petra here, because god knows we need more women in this fandom. Petra, seemingly, in the comics could move the earth. As she's never been in the movies, I decided to make her black, because why not? Oh, and Marie is obviously a younger Rogue. That's all.

 

Marie’s mom is a zombie, and she’s advancing towards her like she wants to eat her, a low moan coming from her chest. Marie is sobbing, stepping backwards hurriedly until her back is up against the wall. She doesn’t know what to do. The canister of anti-zombie spray is in the kitchen, and she can’t get past her mom. Well, she could try, but she’s scared and shaking and if she messes it up her mom will close her rotting hands on her. 

Marie’s mom looms in on her, seconds away from biting, and on instinct Marie shoves her away, like that will save her. 

When Marie touches her, her mom stills though, stops moving and twitching and just _stops_ like she’s glitched. Marie can feel it, somehow, running through her palms from where she touches her mom, this cold feeling like ice water. They stare at one another, both frozen, the numb feeling surging through Marie. Like someone sucking venom from a wound, she can feel the zombie virus being pulled from her mom and into her own hands. Her mom blinks then, and her skin flushes pink, like she’s normal again, like she’s human.  

“Marie?” her mom says weakly, like she doesn’t know where she is or what’s going on, but she’s still glad, then she just collapses, like she was unplugged from the socket.

“Mom?” Marie asks, losing that point of contact and feeling herself warm up again. She may feel better, but her mom is still, and cold, like when she was a zombie, but still looks like a human. A very quiet, very still human. 

Marie runs to the kitchen and grabs the phone. She knows her address, and the number to call - _nine, one, one,_ she dials in with shaky fingers - but it’s still weird, actually doing it, even though they’d practised it loads. Knowing how to do something and actually doing it are very different. 

“I live at 14 Madison Drive,” she says immediately, because her mom said to always say her address first in case something happened to the phone and at least they’d know where to go. “It’s my mom. I think it’s cardiac.” 

_Marie,_ her mom had said to her in her very serious voice. _You must always say it’s cardiac. Even if someone breaks their leg, say it’s cardiac. They come faster if you say that. Cardiac means something has happened to their heart._

It wasn’t even a lie, not really. Her mom wasn’t moving, and that could be her heart, right?

The woman on the phone tells her to wait, and she does, remembering to watch her mom’s chest to see if it moves. If it does, she’s breathing. 

If it doesn’t, Marie is meant to kiss her, kind of, and blow air into her. But that would mean touching her again, and that’s what made her go like this in the first place, so Marie doesn’t, just in case. She turns her head away and stares out the window, waiting for the ambulance, and if she’s crying a little bit, then that’s okay too. 

 

-

 

Hank has unstrapped his metal hand, and it rests on the table, the silver fingers curved towards him in that one useless gesture. He wants to be able to move the metal fingers with his brain, with his nerves,and is prodding at his stump experimentally when there’s a knock at the door. 

“Come in,” Hank says, taking the wire away from the stump sadly.  

Pietro walks in, which is still jarring. Hank had been used to him just appearing, without warning, whenever he chose.  

“Hank. Haaaank,” Pietro says. “C’mon man, you’re at the hand again? Can’t you work on the zombie thing? Please?” 

Sometimes Hank thinks of Pietro as a small, excitable dog. Now and again you throw him the ball, but most of the time you just wish he’d calm down and stop peeing on the furniture. Hank frowns. Perhaps he’d overextended his metaphor, but maybe not.

“Pietro, look, I’m sorry, but there’s no real cure. We have aerosol versions of the suppressor for immediate threats, and the bracelets for the long-term. It’s the best we have.”  
“But, like, if you could actually kill the zombie virus instead of suppressing it-”

“I’m really busy with my hand right now Pietro. Can you just leave it?” 

Pietro’s face falls, and Hank feels like he’d just kicked a puppy. 

“Yeah, cool man, don’t worry,” Pietro says, and leaves the room dejectedly. 

Hank feels momentarily bad, but pushes it aside. There is science to be done after all. 

-

 

Pietro stalks out of the mansion and just aims in the direction of the local village. It’s weird, because he’d be there already if he had his power, but he doesn’t. Travel time is like a thing that he needs to factor in now, and it’s depressing. 

Admittedly, he’s pretty ticked off because Hank is being a dick and not working on the whole zombie thing which Pietro _knows_ he can cure if he tries. But Pietro didn’t lash out. He walked away, and now he plans on doing some impulse buying - if he ever makes it to the store at this godawful pace that is. Isn’t that what people are meant to do when they’re stressed or bored, or simply good Americans? Buy random shit?

Okay, maybe he doesn’t have any actual money per say, but that’s not entirely his fault. Being a mutant isn’t very lucrative. The government doesn’t go, _hey Pietro we totally get that you could kill everyone but you don’t. Here’s a thousand dollars. Go wild. Treat yourself kid._

He’s not a mutant anymore though, he remembers, and that awful feeling comes over him again, and he feels more numb than he did when he was a zombie. 

He reaches the stores _eventually,_ ambles through it slowly. The floors are that yellowish slippery surface that usually makes him want to run down the length of it in his socks playing air guitar, but he’s not in the mood tonight. It’s quiet in the store, and pieces of glass still litter the floor in places. The zombie apocalypse had came and gone since Hank had figured out how to make an spray version of the suppressor, but still, there were stray zombies being found all the time. Still, shops weren’t doing well, people weren’t back to work. 

Pietro wanders over to the sweet counter. Jesus. Real candy. Charles had gone through a ridiculous phase where he’d insisted that they detox, or eat more vegetables or whatever healthy bullshit. Alex had mumbled something about how the only truly toxic thing in their lives is Magneto, which Pietro thought was funny but also a little insulting, maybe. He may be a mass-murderer, but Magneto is the only dad Pietro’s got. Show some respect, Alex, please. 

He considers grabbing a bottle from the drink aisle, but that’s awfully like stealing. Okay, so there is no distinction between that and stealing. 

He glances around, and shoves a bottle of vodka under his jacket when no-one’s looking. Pietro’s always had criminal tendencies, and god knows he needs something to drink tonight. 

-

 

It’s dinner time, and Pietro is still on the missing list. Hank feels the first tinges of alarm, like a nagging feeling that you’ve left the door unlocked and are too far away to do anything about it. 

“Erm, Charles?” he asks. Charles is systematically stabbing his noodles with his chopsticks, which meant he’s probably thinking about Magneto, and looks up with a frown.  

“Yes?”

“Is Pietro around? Only I haven’t seen him since this morning.”

“Good riddance,” Alex says darkly. Alex had never really loved his lasers, but now they were gone, he missed them, and was taking it out on the rest of them. Typical. 

Charles sighs and massages his temples. “Pietro’s gone out,” he says, sounding surprised by this. “Well, he’s not within a five-mile radius anyway. Remind me to do something about it if he’s not back by tonight.” 

Hank is peevish at that. Really. There’s only four of them in the house; Pietro consists of 25% of Charles’ daily human interaction, and he’ll still need to be reminded to check if the kid is dead or not. 

_These people,_ Hank thinks, and then remembers that he’s one of them. 

 

 

-

 

Wanda leans over the bowl of popcorn to clink her glass against Petra’s. “To Friday nights,” she says dramatically. 

“Not that I don’t love you and all Wanda, really,” Petra says, “but when I get a boyfriend, Fat Friday is going to be first tradition to go.” 

Fat Friday was their thing, their trademark. They worked out all week and studied hard and all that, but Fridays they have pancakes, coke, wine, the works. Fridays they watch shitty romcoms that are just as sweet and bad for you as the food, where there’s always a pretty white boy and a pretty white girl who have relationhsip troubles but manage work through it. They’d missed a month’s worth of these movies because of the damn apocalypse, and Wanda is determined to enjoy tonight, even if the romcoms are not quite representative of either of them.. 

Not that Petra isn’t pretty. Fuck if she isn’t the prettiest girl Wanda has ever known. She’s model thin, with dark black skin and cloud-like black hair framing her face. She’s also straight, and Wanda is not. 

“Hey,” Wanda says. “None of that talk. First of all, I am not the type of friend who gets ditched. Second, as if you’ll ever get a boyfriend. State of you anyway.” 

Petra chucks a pillow at her, and Wanda laughs and tries not to think too much about kissing her right then and there. 

 

There’s a repeated knock on the door, then nothing. Silence. Wanda takes the popcorn off her lap and hops up to looks out through the peephole. There’s no-one there. 

Feeling faintly nervous - who hasn’t, since the whole zombie disaster- she opens the door, but someone must have left a box or something pressed up against the other side because it’s heavy and slow to move. She shoves at it with all her strength. 

“Ow,” says the weight against the door unexpectedly. 

Wanda squeezes through the gap she’s made and looks at the ground, and her twin stares back at her, grinning madly. 

“Heyyyy,” Pietro says. “Waaaanda.”

“Pietro? What are you doing here? Why are you on the ground?” 

“Waaaaanda,” Pietro repeats, like it’s important. 

Wanda takes a step back before he can puke on her shoes. Pietro is a puker when he’s drunk, and she likes her shoes just the way they are. 

“That is my name. Are you drunk?” 

“M’nt drunk Wanda. Wan. Da. Can I call you Wan?” 

“Get up,” she says, but he just rolls over like a puppy that wants you to scratch its belly. She must be a horrible sister, because it’s only now that she notices. 

“Hey Piets, did you dye your hair? Brown does kind of suit you I guess.” 

“Human hair. Hairrrrr.” 

“What?” 

He kicks up a leg, like a burlesque dancer. “Guess who’s human? ME. I’m human Wan, no more fast silver - no, speedy silver, shit, y’know, my thingy.” 

Wanda considers her twin, who is now stretched out on the floor and looks to be staying that way. Petra is inside in their shared flat. 

If she were Magneto’s daughter through and through, she’d throw a blanket over Pietro - or maybe not even that - and go back inside to her girl friend whom she wishes were her girlfriend. Pursuit of self interest and all that. But she’s a Maximoff, not a Lehnsherr. 

“Hey Petra,” she calls, “It’s my brother. Could you come here a sec?” 

Petra comes out to the door, in her silk pajamas, the ivory colour contrasting fabulously against her dark skin.  
“So this is the dork that I’ve been meaning to meet,” she says, looking down at Pietro. “He’s really the hot, male version of you, huh?” 

Wanda feels something lurch inside of her, and Pietro makes a sound that could be construed as a _thanks_ from his position on the floor.

“Can you do your thing?” Wanda asks. 

“Sure.” Petra raises her hands, and the ground beneath Pietro buckles, but softly, carefully, carrying him inside the door. 

“Woaaaah,” Pietro says as he rides this wave of earth all the way over to the couch, where it tilts sidewise and tips him onto the cushions. “Watch out you guys,” he says, very seriously. “There’s a weird earthquake,” and then he tilts over the edge of the couch to puke but over-extends himself and falls back onto the floor again. 

“The resemblance is uncanny,” Petra says with a smile. 

“Who are you?” Pietro says, looking up, evidently completely unashamed at just throwing up. 

“Petra.”

“No, it’s Pietro,” he replies slowly. “Pee-eh-tro.” 

“I _know,_ ” Petra says. “And I’m Petra. It’s confusing, I know.” 

Pietro regards her suspiciously. “I’ll devise a nickname for you when I’m sober. Nighty night ladies.” He wiggles his fingers seductively at them. Wanda sighs and heaves him back onto the couch. 

“I guess Fat Friday is over,” she says to Petra. 

“There’s always next week,” Petra says, and Wanda smiles, just to herself. 

 

-

 

The police keep their distance, but still shield her from the sight of the ambulance crew who crouch around her mom, but Marie knows now that she’s not going to get up, that she’s dead. She screams at one lady who tries to touch her that it’s her fault, that her touch killed her mom, and they respectfully stay away, not like they believe her, but because it’ll keep her happy. 

Marie is taken from the scene - it’s not a scene, she wants to tell them, it’s my house, it’s my home- and is bundled into a police car. They don’t drive away fast enough for her to miss the sight of them pulling a sheet over her mother, because she’s cold and lifeless. 

She curls her hands into fists, and then shoves them in her pockets. The streets, so familiar, fly by and the police are trying to talk to her, but Marie says nothing. She gently lays her hand on her own neck, and tries to make herself go cold like her mom did, to have the life just drain out of her, but it doesn’t work. 

 

-

 

Erik comes to him that night. 

Charles is in the swimming pool, at the edge, dressed only in a pair of swim shorts. He looks critically at his legs, at the fine blond hairs covering the thin limbs, lacking in muscle. Sighing, he pushes himself out of the chair, and using the handrails, lowers himself into the pool.  

  
He knows right now that his feet are touching the tiles- that officially he is standing, even if he needs his hands on the wall to balance himself. Charles relaxes himself then lies back, letting his legs float up until he’s flat on his back. He swims backstroke these days, and drags his dead legs behind him.  


After a few lengths, he hears someone enter the pool. It’s probably Alex. Hank doesn’t swim much - the fur is too much of a hassle to dry afterwards. Charles remembers then that Hank doesn’t have fur anymore. There’s a lot of things like that to be remembered lately.

He counts his own breaths, the steady intake of air, and it’s really peaceful here, just him and -  


“Hello Charles,” Erik says, looming over him. 

Charles yelps, thrashes, and loses his delicate balance. His legs drop down and he won’t be able to get them back up until he gets to the wall- he’ll have to slowly pull himself forward with just his hands, jesus, he might drown- 

Erik calmly puts a hand under Charles’ back, and lifts slightly, until Charles’ legs float back up. 

“Thanks,” he mutters. Erik still has his hand under his back. 

“Must we always have to save one another from drowning?” Erik says. “I really didn’t mean to startle you, but Hank said I might find you here.” 

“Can we talk at the edge?” Charles asks, because although having a topless Adonis leaning over you and holding you is nice and all, it’s also a touch demeaning. He does know how to swim after all.  


Erik pulls his hand out from under him, slowly. It’s hard, now that he’s stopped, to get some momentum again, but Charles flings his hand backwards and tries his best. It’s only four quick strokes to the edge anyway.  


When his hand touches the side, he twists himself around and rests his elbows on the edge, to take his weight. Erik is waiting for him there. He’s topless, muscles glinting with water. He’s also only wearing a pair of boxers as swim shorts. It’s very, very distracting. 

“Hello Erik,” he says, making a Herculean effort to keep his eyes on Erik’s face.  

“I hear that Pietro has run away,” Erik says, running a finger through the water absentmindedly, causing ripples. Charles doesn’t ask how Erik knows this. He undoubtedly has his sources. 

“He’s been taking the whole human situation hard,” Charles admits, and although it’s a serious subject he’s not as focused on the conversation as he ought to be. He’s thinking instead of how bare he is now, floating here in only a pair of swim shorts. His arms are toned enough at least now since he’s been wheeling around, but it’s hard to feel confident when he’s beside Erik, especially in those underpants. Charles drags his eyes up to Erik’s again.

“What I can do?” Erik is asking him. 

Charles shrugs. “Imagine if you lost your powers. It’s traumatic.” 

“I don’t have to,” Erik says softly, and Charles sees a plastic prison and nods. 

“Nor do I,” Charles says, thinking of the suppressors. “Well, what did you need back then?” 

Erik moves closer to him. The water ripples softly, undulating creases in the smooth surface, but it’s utterly quiet in the pool.  

“You,” Erik says honestly, and they’re chest to chest now. They haven’t been eye to eye in years, and it’s oddly empowering. With his feet on the pool floor, Charles can almost pretend he’s standing. 

“Erik. Look, you just disappeared again. _Again._ Can’t you see how that’s an issue?” 

“I didn’t mean to be curt,” Erik says, then stops, and he catches Charles’ eye, for a second. That particular adjective has been ruined for the both of them. The humour only lasts for that instant though. 

“Do you regret it?” Charles asks, and by ‘it’ he means when Erik finally addressed the latent homoerotic feeling between them and finally, finally kissed him. In hindsight Erik had done it only because they were about to die and he’d face no repercussions for it; now, under the white beams of the swimming pool lights, it’s obviously hard for him to face the truth of it. 

But still, Erik is meant to jump right in and say, _of course not Charles,_ to say it was the best decision he’s ever made.

Charles feels, strangely, like a participant in a one-night stand who has rolled over to find their lover has already left; now he’s caught the same lover on the street and it’s horrible for them both. 

“Erik”,he says, finally, to cut into the silence he seems to have created, “You’re one of the few friends I have left. I’m not asking you to marry me, for Godsake’s. But you do not get to run away for a decade either, even if you do regret that night. Can’t we at least be civil with one another, even if we can’t-”

He doesn’t finish that sentence. Erik, topless and with water running down his torso in rivets, is too good to lose over this. Erik, who looked at him, hurt, when Charles had pulled away; and only, only because Charles had realised how to save his son. 

This, their feelings, it’s a hand grenade that they’ve pulled the pin on, and yet are still cradling close to their chests, regardless of the damage it will cause. It needs to be thrown into the open before it hurts them anymore.

“No,” Charles says, surprising himself. “You know what, no. I’m not settling for another decade of this shit either. No more civility. I want honesty. Listen, Erik. Are you attracted to me?” 

Erik raises a brow. “Really Charles, do we have to-”

“Shut up.” He pushes himself up, over the ledge, so that he’s sitting on the edge with his feet still in the water. Erik, almost like he’s drawn towards the vacuum Charles has created in the water, glides closer, so that his chest is pressed up against Charles’ legs, and he’s looking up at Charles.

“Are you attracted to me?” Charles says again. 

Erik holds his gaze. “Yes.” 

“Good,” Charles says, and almost says _then fucking act like it.  
_ “Right. Well, we’re both attracted to each other, and we’re grown men. There’s no reason we can’t just-”

“Your turn to shut up,” Erik says, running his fingertip along Charles’ leg, which he unfortunately cannot feel but appreciates the movement nonetheless. Charles holds his breath and waits. 

“I thought you might only want me at the end of the world,” Erik says quietly, eyes down and staring at Charles’ thigh like it holds information he needs to know. 

There’s a lot of corny responses Charles can think of for that, _Erik, you are my world,_ being top of the list, but he restrains himself. 

“You, as usual, were wrong,” he says. Erik looks up, smiles wolfishly at him, and gently parts Charles’ legs. Those wandering fingertips float higher up Charles’ body, until he can feel them, and they’re on his hips, under his ribs, working his swim shorts down, and he says nothing, because they both needed to shut up and do this already, and for once, let their actions speak instead of their damnable words. 

_

 

Pietro wakes slowly.

“Wanda?” he calls out, just making sure he did in fact crash at her’s and not some other random baffled student’s place instead. He doesn’t even know how he ended up here, and decides not to pursue that line of thought. 

“Over here,” she says, and he drags himself off the couch regretfully. 

Wanda is at the kitchen table drinking coffee. Petra is studying a geology book, but closes it when he walks in. 

“Hey, Petra, right? Yeah, sorry, that was shitty first impression of me last night,” he says. 

She smiles, and he knows then she’s cool. “Actually, it was pretty funny. Don’t worry about it. Want a coffee?”

“Just water,” he says. It’s still weird, people getting things for him. He doesn’t even know where the glasses are, and it would take him a couple of seconds, maybe even a minute, to find out at the speed he goes at these days. Things like that are still jarring. 

“Hey Piets, what happened?” Wanda asks, taking a long sip of her coffee- she takes black, and he takes white if he’s having it at all. Non-identical twins at their finest. 

“Do you mean last night, or..?” 

“The whole human thing.” 

“Oh,” he says, and sits down. “Well, actually I got bitten by a zombie. I’ve got this suppressor bracelet,” he says, and wiggles his ankle helpfully so they’ll know where it is, “ and it stops me being a zombie, but it also stops me being a mutant too.” 

Wanda touches his hand just for a second, and pulls away again. They were never very touchy-feely people, so he appreciates that much.  

“That’s harsh,” Petra agrees, handing him the water. He drinks it gratefully. 

“Actually, Wanda, I have a favour to ask.” 

“Oh? Other than crashing on my couch?” 

“Yeah, sorry. Do you think you can do your thing, and like, change the probability that I was bitten, and then I’d still be mutant…” He trails off, conscious of her brown eyes that are staring him down brutally. 

“You want me to alter the past.” 

“Yep,” he says casually, but she doesn’t buy it. “Look, Wanda, I’m suffering here. Please.” 

“Piets, I’m only just getting past basic hexes and stuff, and now you want me to try this? If I fuck this up, it could like, backfire majorly.” 

“What’s the cliche? Rip a hole in the space-time continuum? Whatever that means,” Petra adds. “Anyway, gotta run for class. It was nice meeting you Pietro.” 

“You too,” he says, not looking away from his twin. “Please Wanda.” 

“I don’t even know how to.” 

“Try,” he says. 

Wanda sighs, but it’s a sigh like _fine_ more than a _fuck off_ sigh. These things are subtle. 

“Let me get a calculator,” she says. “This is going to take a lot of working out.” 

 

-

 

“Hank?” Alex calls out. 

Hank puts his screwdriver down a touch sadly. “What?” 

Alex wanders in the lab looking lost. “The prof never came back from his swim. That was last night.” 

“Yeah, Magneto swung by. He’d heard that we lost Pietro. He probably murdered Charles,” Hank jokes, but not really. 

“Oh,” Alex says. “Well, that explains it.” 

“Explains what?” Hank asks crabbily. He really does have to be getting back to crafting a working substitute hand for himself after all. 

“Well, why he’s been so long. They’re fucking,” Alex says crudely, but also like this isn’t news at all. 

“Since when?” Hank says. 

“Since the apocalypse,” Alex replies. “So you owe me money.” 

Hank swivels around in his chair. “Nope. You have absolutely no proof.” 

“I don’t get why you’re betting against them man. Prof and Magneto are just inevitable.”

“He’s bad for him.” 

“So were the suppressor drugs, but you didn’t seem too bothered about that.” 

Hank closes his eyes. At least these days when he’s angry he doesn’t start sprouting fur. 

“Alex. I’m trying to replace the hand that you lasered off. I’m not so interested in Charles and Erik’s sex life.” 

Alex storms fully into the room, his mood changing as quick as the weather. He grabs onto Hank’s good arm forcefully. 

“Do not pull that shit with me. You _asked_ me to burn it off. You do not get to blame me.” 

Hank blinks at the outburst, regaining his voice. 

“Sorry,” he says. He’s conscious how small and thin he is again since he’s been human, how Alex could hurt him now if he wanted to. He’s conscious that he used to be a muscular monster, and now he’s a one-handed skinny guy who spends too long in the lab. 

A long time ago, Alex used to be a jerk to Hank. That was years ago, and they’ve gotten over it. Sean and Angel have died in the meantime, Raven became Mystique, and Erik and Charles may or may not have fucked. People have changed. 

So it’s weird, how a decade just melts away just like that, when Alex has a grip on his collar and Hank feels intimidated all over again. 

Alex lets go, and lets out a breath through his teeth. 

“I’m sorry,” he says. “Jesus. I just- I can’t have you blaming me for this. It’s not my fault, okay?” He looks distraught, but Hank gets it. He still feels guilty for the whole losing the hand thing. 

“Alex, you’re right. I did ask you. I thought it might work but it didn’t. It’s no-one’s fault.” 

“Yeah?” Alex asks, his face softening a little bit. 

“Yeah,” Hank says. “And hey, for what it’s worth, I’m sorry about you losing your power.” 

Alex shrugs. “It’s not a big deal. I never really got to the point where I would miss it, you know?” 

“I do,” Hank says. 

Alex finally takes a step back from where he’d been pressed right up against Hank. “Okay. Can I help with the whole hand thing?”

“Not really,” Hank admits. “But thanks.” 

“No problem,” Alex says. “See you later then, I guess.” 

“Yeah,” Hank says, and watches him leave, feeling oddly conflicted. He turns back to the hand on the table, but his concentration is gone. 

 

-

 

“Okay,” Wanda says, with a sketchbook in front of her. “Tell me everything. I’ll need to reconstruct the scene, to get the variables and all that.” 

“You’d be a good cop,” Pietro says. Wanda ignores that comment. 

“So, you like Petra?” she asks after a moment. 

“She’s really cool,” he says, “but naaah.” 

“Nah?” Wanda repeats, offended on behalf of Petra but also strangely delighted. “Why not?” 

“Because you’re into her and I’m not that much of a jerk.” 

Wanda looks back down to the sketchpad, and doodles viciously. 

“Thanks,” she mumbles. 

“Well, y’know, if you could fix me in return, it’d be appreciated.” 

“Right,” she says. “I’m warning you though, I don’t have much control-”

“Maybe you should have considered joined the school that _specifically_ trains people to control their powers then.” 

“Shut up.” She pictures Hank as a zombie, looming in on Pietro. If he were to wake up, just before, and run away-

She flexes her fingers and Pietro yells. 

“Jesus Christ!” He’s encased in flame. She closes her fingers into a fist and the fire is gone as soon as it started. 

“Wanda!” 

“Sorry,” she mutters. “I did warn you though.” 

 

-

 

Sometimes Alex feels like he’s already dead. All of his friends are. Darwin first, then Sean, then Angel. He even went to war fully expecting to die himself. 

The prof is great, and what he does for the kids is bang on. None of them are going to have to get themselves arrested just so they don’t hurt anyone, like Alex had to. They don’t have to get themselves sent to solitary for years on end for the greater fucking good.  

It would have been easier, maybe, just to kill himself way back then. Prison had been the same sort of limbo, a lifeless kind of existence anyway. But then he’d come here, and it kind of felt okay. 

But that grace period is over. He’s going to have to leave soon, Alex knows it in his bones. He’s human now, he’s been booted forcefully down the evolutionary ladder, and there’s no place for humans at Xavier’s school for gifted youngsters. Alex’s only gift now is watching everyone around him die and to somehow still be alive. 

He knows he has Hank, but Hank is busy. Hank has science and politics and a glittering career and future in front of him. Hank is too busy worrying about his hand to even miss his mutation. 

Alex never loved having laser blasts come out of his torso, but at least he had somewhere to stay because of them, had a home and a weird but wonderful family. Now? What does he have now? 

 

He flicks on the telly. It’s better to distract himself when he gets like this before he lets himself think any darker. 

_“The young girl cured her mother of the zombie virus but also inadvertently killed her… Reports are calling her the deadly healer-”_

Alex frowns, and turns it up. Maybe he can help after all.   
  
_  
  
It’s weird, because it’s meant to be the prof who finds new mutants with Cerebro and recruits them, but it was Alex who found her just by watching telly. Then again, Charles has been very busy screwing Pietro’s dad. 

“Spare me the details,” Pierto had said when he came home, finally, after Wanda had admitted she didn’t have a clue how to do it; and it’s weird how he thinks of the mansion as home now, actually. “You’re like two young ones. It’s adorable, truly, but like, I definitely do not need to know.” 

Erik had frowned. “How…?”

“You’re blushing. Magneto does not blush, like, ever. It’s telling.” 

Erik had mumbled something or other, and had escaped to the other room. 

“You’re more perceptive than you let on,” Charles had said. 

“And you’re more into dick than you let on,” Pietro had replied. “It’s chill. Us Lehnsherrs are irresistible, I know.” 

“Pietro, I am truly sorry about Wanda not being able to help.” 

“It’s okay. Lots of people have to be human. It’s not the worst that could happen to me.” 

Charles had grimaced, and Pietro knew what he was inferring from that sentence, but he hadn’t meant it like that, really, but it’s one of those things that if you try and apologise for, it just makes it worse. 

“Actually, and I hate to ruin the moment,” Alex had said, entering the room kind of bashfully, “I think we might be able to make a mutant out of you again after all.”

 

-

 

“Hey,” Pietro says gently. 

The cops have cleared out after the professor touched his temple in their direction, and now it’s just Pietro, Alex, the prof and Marie, the little girl with deadly hands. 

Marie watches him silently. He doesn’t look as weird as he once did; the grey hair is brown, the fabulous silver jacket traded in for a ‘trust-me’ blue jumper, just for the occasion. 

He hunches down so he’s closer to her level. “I heard you have some wicked powers.” 

“No,” she says. “I killed my mom.” 

“I had a power too. I used to be able to run really fast. You know what? Once I ran with my friend, but it was too fast for them, and they broke their neck. Now I always hold people’s necks so they don’t get whiplash, so it doesn’t happen again.” 

Marie stares at him, but doesn’t reply. Alex stands further back, and clears his throat. 

“I used to be able shoot lasers,” he says quietly. “One time, this bad guy took my power and used it on my friend Darwin. He died,” Alex adds bluntly. 

“Yeah,” Pietro says, “Well, what Alex means is that sometimes bad things happen with our powers. Good things happen too though.What happened to your mom was awful, Marie. But you’ll get better at it. You’ll learn.” 

“I don’t want to.” 

“You never, ever have to do something you don’t want to. But my buddy here - see the old bald guy-”

“Hey-” Charles says without anger. 

“Anyway, he can read minds. So he’ll know exactly when Alex gets tired, or need to stop, okay? So there’s nothing to worry about.” 

 

It was Alex who volunteered to have Marie use her power on him. Quiet, surly Alex who was going to risk his life. 

“Why?” Pietro had asked him. “I’m lost without my speed man, but you, the lasers-”

“Just shut up and let me do it,” Alex had replied, and maybe Pietro should have argued but he didn’t.  


Marie looks suspiciously at Charles, and then frowns. “Prove it.” 

“You’re thinking about running away,” Charles says softly. “You don’t want to go into foster care, but there’s none who’ll take you except Uncle Greg, and he always smells funny and you don’t want to live with him. There’s no need to worry Marie. I run a school for people just like you.” 

 

Marie looks between them, evidently torn, and then finally nods. “Okay,” she says. ‘But, it isn’t my fault if you die, okay?” 

“I won’t,” Alex says, and he’s tall and blond and muscular, and when he says something, you’re inclined to think it’s true even if all evidence points to the contrary. “Take my hand, Marie.” 

He outstretches his, and Marie takes it. 

 


End file.
